Yes, Future: Fictional Victims' Departures From Demises
by Quillon42
Summary: Takes Tecmo Knight (1989 arcade game also called Wild Fang) which contained one of the first traumatic sights I've ever seen in entertainment. Here when the heroes so harrow the hell of their enemy's environs in earnest, they free more grateful individuals therein than the subjects of their own kingdom.


(NB: Technically there are spoilers here and such for the following because deaths of characters within these are implied toward the end: the films _Child's Play 2_, _Friday the 13__th__ Part 8_, _True Romance_, _The Fly II_, and the original _Total Recall_; and the television show _24_ as well. As such here, please beware).

YES, FUTURE: FICTIONAL VICTIMS' PALLIATIVE DEPATURES FROM TRAUMATIC DEMISES

By Quillon42

Theirs was a quite unpleasant milieu, that of the paradigmatic paladins known to their blight- beleaguered land as the Tecmo Knights. An invasion from without consisting of an ill uprising of the ugliest freaks of fauna one could ever imagine, and it was all on these overwhelmed and undersized noblemen to beat it all back.

Verily one could posit so rightfully that the onslaught that these munchkins most militant were facing was definitively one of the, if not very much absolutely _the_, most violent and bloody occupation by evil that could be witnessed in any reality. Really a reasonable person only need look at this opus's opening seconds past the title itself to divine such. That contemporaneous Tecmo _Ninja Gaiden_ coin-op circular saw Game Over screen paled in comparison; even the forthcoming _Mortal Kombat_ in all the series' (at least like early on) campiness could not carry a candle to the egregious instances paraded at the perimeter of this arcade experience.

Lo that il-ludological atrocity, that eyesore series of images that accompanied this entity's attract mode. Wherein a vile viridian demon had seized with its insidious incisors a fleeing fellow by the latter's lunky head, and detached the same from the dude…wherein possibly the same seething horror had a sword poised over the face of a lady looking upward at it in a mixture of defeat and defiance, and then the brazen blade plunged perditiously into the babe's brain.

What was worse than the growing shadowy ominous presence of the warlord Wild Fang ensuing in the background was honestly the fact that the aforementioned slime-skinned fright was nowhere to be seen in the game's trajectory proper. As such, the opportunity for any kind of vindictive vengeance against this abominable abortion of an adversary would never manifest. This author mourned such a happenstance much more than any tiny truculent trooper upon his oversized ride.

(Perhaps in actuality the only worse element amongst these fleeting screens was the presence of an innocent, unassuming, and generic rabbit Tecmo mascot grinning at the player on the high-score display, in the midst of such horrors…said banal bunny posing as predecessor to the boobular ballasts of _Dead Or Alive_ who would serve as later frontrunners for the company).

There would exist through all of this callous carnage, however, a light beyond the dreadful, dismal darkness of which was comprised this cruelest kick-an-ass called _Tecmo Knight_. A grail that could serve as a salve for all the wounds suffered beyond the muscles and moreso into the mind.

Thence would the heroes harvest more than just disgusting skulls culled from bloody-faced bulldog people, excitable alligator men carrying a torch in each hand like sprigs of fresh cotton candy, and bizarre turtlelike toughs looking more deformed than any travesty of tortoise that Michael Bay could bequeath to a disappointed public.

Amongst the throng of scarily-bloodied-steel-boomerang-slinging pricks, amidst all the serpentine sisters literally egging on the warriors, the latter slinging their round red ova at the hyphen-heighted heroes as they strode along on their gigantic steeds, there stood an impetus to achieve much more than the mere liberation of the kingdom which the amaranth and azure adventurers had known to be their homes for the entirety of their young, vividly violent existences.

Forsooth, there was more satisfaction to be gained from this gory gamut than the repeated defeat of the colossal chimp whose errant fists sought to strip the souls from these soldiers and the spirit from the fledgling resistance otherwise. More than just the gratification siphoned from the super-statured Smokeman jumping upon and noogying the nefarious horned honcho Wild Fang himself into extinction, after his hoariest of hearts was beaten out of the apparent ballsack housing the evil organ.

What neither the pint-proportioned protagonists, nor even the imperial incubus of the testicular ticker himself realized, was that the latter had guarded a treasure greater than anything in the ever-vaunted vaults of the humans' holdings. A gift that would so give back not to the noble rangers themselves, but rather to those held within the confines of the very chest containing such swag.

Such a massive scale motivation did not manifest itself until the duo of diminutive thanes of this peril-permeated world had made the sinister scrotal despot succumb to their minuscule swords and their tiger-mount maces. Once the utterly unsightly antagonist was undone, the two triumphing tongs to this barbecue most barbaric had discovered a capital phenomenon which had to be opened up, not unlike the Door To Peace in _Rygar_ (home console version here at least)…yet another Tecmo title that involved the trouncing of ghouls ever so grotesque.

Before the battlers now was, upon the grim grimy wall of the squalid enemy temple, that same couple of jaws between which each was positioned, and which would close and consume were a captured warrior not to be ransomed intermittently at the prodigious expense of twenty-five cents of silver. At present these contumacious choppers, which were unbeknownst to all involved as the Mandibles Of Anguish, had served as the doorway to a dimension in which all characters cut down in manners most traumatic were contained. When the men noted the jowls were not at present ajar, the red roustabout between them ran to fetch one of myriad baneful bombs within the final stronghold.

Carrying the eldritch explosive back with him through the assistance of his bloody laser-breathing dragon familiar, the ruby ruffian motioned for the sapphire scrapper to open the malevolent mouth, so the old-time ordnance could be deposited within and what was thought the gullet of some giant unseen beast behind the palace partition blown beautifully away. And so did the legionnaire in lamellar of lapis lazuli oblige his brother, using his baddy-bane brand to pry open the piehole of pandemonium that was this hellish maw in fact.

Yet it was the wrenching open of these same bastardly masticating bones that

[WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH]

occasioned the liberation of so many of those story constituents who had met an end by the most unpleasant means conceivable. More specifically the security guard from the end of _Child's Play 2_ skipped arm in arm with the sewer worker from _Friday the 13__th__ Part 8_, they playfully arguing over how the heck a girl could be named Kyle. Paul Koplin from the second season of _24_ had been ejected alongside the innocent bystander who was shot up in _Total Recall_ (the 1980s version), they comparing impressions of what it was like to be gunned down most gratuitously. Virgil from _True Romance_ emerged with Anton from _The Fly II_, they exchanging business cards and pledging future professional services one to the other.

Yes, even those last two villains quite vituperative had done enough time in this jail which the jauntily supercilious had decided they should stay in forever. (And it was arguable also, in this author's estimation, that in some cases the ones who put those wretched reprobates there (meaning the protagonists and/or the screenwriters alike) should serve their own sentence in a stockade of suffering, all for their own unlikeability and insufferableness in turn.)

Once this sundry parade of redeemables had passed en masse, the masters of their massive mounts in the territory of Tecmo marked one another and just chuffed it off. All the signs of sheer relief upon the prisoners' faces made the heroes identify with their own strife, and made them feel as if they effected an even greater justice just then than the destruction of Wild Fang and his followers.

Indeed the wolf fool with the axe would now be obligated to burst through a virtual wall with his hatchet and withdraw his gloating that there was No Future, as for all who deserved it there would be years ahead to be spent enjoying existence being once again whole and alive.


End file.
